


the life cycle of a plant

by ycnderes



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: F/M, forgive me horticulturists, i just went according to meanings, these plants are probably all wrong for bouquets and the like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 04:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ycnderes/pseuds/ycnderes
Summary: Requested: " I love Stalker/Yandere Lawrence and there isnt enough of that. So what I had in mind was of him stalking a female reader (who has no idea he's doing it) who caught his attention for always being so kind to him and he's become infatuated with her and is determined to make her his."*originally posted on tumblr March 18th, 2018





	the life cycle of a plant

**Author's Note:**

> _On a crowded street corner surrounded by people all alone / She walks around the corner, it's like she brought the sun with her / It's like the sky opened and God handed you directly to me, I know it sounds crazy but so is life, I'm sinking, And feeling like your heart is beating solely for me / I'm miles out of my way, creepy, I want more, Was gonna turn back but you stuck your key in your front door, I'm standing across the street, stars that aligned us to meet_  
>  \-- I Never Knew You by Cage

**i. the seed**

 

It starts like this: a small interaction, a small seed. Lawrence wants more plants, needs more seeds. He’s nervous in public, hates being around people, but garden shops are only open so late. So he goes, and he fidgets, and he worries.

 

It starts like this: you’re just doing your job, what you’re paid to do, when you see a man who looks confused at the seed packets in his hands, so you go over to help. And it’s awkward, sure. The guy, with his long blonde hair in a neat ponytail and the dark circles under his eyes, jumps when you say something to him. He looks at you, eyes narrowed, hands clenched tight around the packages, and you want to laugh, but this is your job.

 

It starts like this: you do your job. You explain some of the recommendations for growth for the seeds in his hands. You tell him what sunlight and water amounts they need. You tell him when to expect seedlings to pop, if all goes according to plan. He nods along, but doesn’t say anything. You try to joke when you tell him about your black thumb. Black thumb, he asks. Yes, you seem to kill everything you touch, you laugh. His lips quirk into an almost smile.

 

It starts like this: a small seed, a small interaction, and Lawrence leaves thinking of you, and plants his new seeds thinking of you, and wakes up in the morning thinking of you.

 

And then.

 

It’s no longer just a seed.

 

**ii. roots spread**

 

You spread into his mind like a plant, and your roots grow in spaces there shouldn’t be any room for. They squeeze through the flesh of his brain, scraping against the inside of his skull and carving bits of his soft meat away until you belong.

 

He decides to bring you a bouquet. To explain his affections, to gain your attention, he makes and remakes it in his head until he knows what to bring you.

A simple, small bouquet. Lawrence decides on the center being linaria bipartita, with heliotrope florets on the side covered with sprigs of almond flowers.

 

He’s not very fond of flowers, their decadence a lie as they’re most often just pretty weeds, but they do have meaning. It’s easier to make a statement if he includes flowers.

 

His statement says: I promise to fully be devoted to you. This is my love for you, please see me.

 

He feels you in his hands, as he carefully arranges the flowers for you. Your roots have grown down into his spinal column and spread into every one of his arteries and veins. His blood is yours.

 

**iii. the plant**

 

You find the bundle of flowers on your doorstep. There’s no note, no name, nothing to make you sure of who it could’ve been. It’s… pretty, you guess. You open the front door and bring it in with you. You sniff them and scrunch your nose, unsure if you like these scents together, or even individually. But it was kind, of… whoever. You wonder who it was.

 

The flowers go into a vase with water. Their stems have already been pre-cut so they seem to flourish even more with the water. They stay for a week, then two. Then once they’ve wilted enough you throw them out.

 

Lawrence comes into the shop twice during this week. Each time, he comes in while you’re working. Each time, you help him with something he’s curious about. He doesn’t ask about the mysterious flowers on your doorstep, and you never think that it could be him.

 

You come home, three weeks after the first bunch of flowers, to find another at your doorstep. You don’t know it, but the flower is a brilliant scarlet salvia, with sprigs of tarragon, stinging nettle, and myrtle. There’s no note, no name, and no explanation.

 

The bouquet is kept two weeks and thrown out, so you never find out that the message they were supposed to convey was: My interest in you has not waned, in life or death you shall be forever mine for this is true love.

 

**iv. plant dies**

 

The shop slows down for the winter months, the tourists are leaving and the days are getting shorter. Your time there has shortened, and you mention it to Lawrence, a few days before your last. I hope whoever is here next time you come will know everything I know, you joke when he asks you something so niche you finally have to concede and google it to find the answer. What do you mean? He asks. Oh, I’m leaving soon, they only need so many workers, especially now that it’s dead half the time I’m here, you shrug.

 

Lawrence seems to stiffen, to retreat inwards for a moment, and you let him. He’s shy, and nervous even around so few people. You can’t blame him, and he’s honestly pretty nice. Nothing wrong with being shy.

 

At the end of his purchase, he hesitantly reaches for a hug. You don’t normally give hugs to customers, but you will kind of miss Lawrence and his weekly visits. You smile warmly at him when he lets go. I’ll see you around, okay? He nods, head stiff and awkward.

 

Your shift is done in several hours and you head home. The doorstep is empty, there hasn’t been a bouquet in several weeks. Not that it matters, whoever was leaving them for you obviously didn’t want to be found.

 

**v. fertilizer for the next seed**

 

It ends like this: Inside, you turn on the lights. You take off your shoes, and place your keys away. You pad to your bedroom, feet muffled between the socks and the carpet. You flick on the light, and on your bed there’s a bundle of flowers.

 

It ends like this:  _ Wormwood ( _ absence _ ) _

It ends like this: _ Tansy ( _ hostile thoughts _ ) _

It ends like this: _ Anemone ( _ forsaken love/undying love _ )  _

It ends like this: _ Mallow ( _ consumed by love _ ) _

 

It ends like this: You don’t know what the flowers are, but they’re not where they should be, they shouldn’t be here, should NOT be here-- The door closes behind you with a slam, you gasp and turn, and.

 

You scream.

**Author's Note:**

> (check out more like this on tumblr at [ycnderes](https://ycnderes.tumblr.com/)!)


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